Battles Won and Battles Lost
by HellfireSupremacy
Summary: Postwar, takes place in Trial Map setting Lonely Island. Ike claims another military victory, but can't help but feel that he's losing a far more important battle. One that for him hits a bit closer to home.


**My first PoR Fic. I guess you could say I'm trying to expand my horizons. Okay, that was a lie. What really happened was I was playing PoR Trial Map "Lonely Island" and I had an idea for a short story, so I ran with it. **

**Pending genetic testing that proves I'm the illegitimate son of a Nintendo CEO, I don't own Fire Emblem.**

**Battles Won and Battles Lost**

Eight days. For eight days, Ike, Tibarn and a handful of Griel Mercenaries had held out against wave after wave of Daein wyvern lords and feral crows. Somehow the invaders had learned of the island compound currently housing all the armor and weaponry confiscated from Daein in the aftermath of Ashnard's War. Hell-bent on reclaiming the lost spoils, what remained of Daein's battered army had seemingly rallied every able bodied flyer available in an attempt to storm the fortress and make off with its holdings. Ike had caught wind of the plot just in time to inform Nasir, set sail on the southern seas, and land a small force of defenders on beaches that would thereafter be known as the site of the bloodiest peacetime battle in the history of Tellius. Within hours of Ike's arrival, the first wave of attackers had appeared on the horizon.

And so they fought. Day after day they fought, never resting, never falling back, staining the pristine sands and tainting the coastal waters with the blood of the fallen. It had been a hellish battle. Daein forces had taken the beachhead by sheer numbers, but the Greil mercenaries had made them pay for every inch of ground they gained in body counts. On day eight of the siege hundreds of corpses littered the shore; some burnt, some cut open, some pierced by arrows in vital places, and many more simply just torn to pieces in ways that made them almost unidentifiable. The vast majority of the corpses had met their fate at the hands of Ike and Tibarn, who together had almost single-handedly held the southern front. Any enemy foolish enough to approach the deadly duo had met a swift and brutal end. In aerial combat the King of Hawks was an unstoppable force, and the slayer of the Black Knight was a terrible foe to behold on any battlefield. The others had done their part. Mia sliced through flock after flock of crows with her sonic sword. Soren disposed of countless fliers with gale force winds and searing flames. Rolf took aim at distant foes from the safety of his killer ballista while Mist worked tirelessly to ensure that the island's defenders remained fortified with the most potent healing magic available at all times. Nasir for his part had made use of his size and resilience, blocking the entrance to the weapon facilities with his impressive girth and spouting an occasional breath blast at any invader who ventured too close to the strategic holding point. Everyone knew what was expected of them and performed their part, but none could match the brutal efficiency of Ike and Tibarn (to his credit, Soren came close). They were an army unto themselves.

Seven days of monotonous combat passed: attack, kill, heal up, position for the next wave, attack again. Day in, day out, nothing ever changed. For each invader that fell, two more flew in to take its place. Their numbers seemed limitless.

On the eighth day the invaders broke through. It mattered not; Ike's forces had held out as long as they needed to. Reinforcements were on the way. By day's end the hawks of Phoenicis would arrive from the south and the pegasus knights of Begnion would arrive from the north. Together they would pulverize Daein's flyers and send a strong message to the defeated but still belligerent nation: acts of war would not be tolerated by the peaceful nations of Tellius. The endless fighting was finished. All the Greil Mercenaries had to do was survive the next few moments and it would all be over.

As the fighting drew to a close, Ike allowed himself to indulge in his noble victory. The young commander put down his sword, drew a deep breath, and surveyed the battlefield, reflecting upon the improbable alliance that had made this victory and all his other triumphs possible. There was Ranulf, clawing a feral crow that had been intent on tearing into Mia with it's corrupted talons. How swiftly and decisively he cut down his fellow laguz to protect a young beorc girl. Had Ranulf even given such thoughts consideration? Probably not, the cat-man had transended racial identifications fighting alongside Ike. He no longer saw the participants in this battle as beorc and laguz. He saw them only as allies and enemies. There was the heart of Ike's victory: beorc and laguz working together as comrades. Daeins worked with the laguz only to the extent that they drugged them, enslaved them, and used them as tools. Never would they accept them as equals; even in this battle the wyvern lords and the crows flew segregated. As such, there movements were uncoordinated and there attacks were diminished. It was a great weakness, one Ike had been able to exploit. Part of Ike pitied his enemy. How could any man be so ignorant and so hateful as to sacrifice life and victory for the sake of fool's prejudice?

Reinforcements arrived as twilight descended upon the eighth day of battle and the light of day gave way to moon and stars. Ike saw the pegasus knights and hawks fight the wyvern riders and crows and his heart wept; for all that he had made they destroyed. They fought just as the Daein's fought, segregated and distrustful of their own allies. The pegasus knights of Begnion chanted "bleed the half-breeds!" and cut down the feral crows. The hawks of Phoenicis chanted "slay the wretched humans!" and tore apart the wyvern lords. These were not allies. These were bitter enemies forced to the same side by the command of a Crimean hero who they begrudgingly obeyed only out of fear and respect for his power.

Tibarn too seemed greatly disheartened by the scene. He himself was still very much distrustful of the beorc, especially the aggressive Daeins and the duplicitious Begnions. But to call for their blood with such blind vitriol, to abandon all semblance of civility and fall prey to the old hatreds? He had hoped his fellow Phoenicians would be inspired by the example of their king, but apparently that hadn't been enough.

"Will it ever be enough Tibarn?" Ike wondered aloud, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Will the cycle of hatred ever end, or is this forever how it must be? Begnion vs. Kilvas, Daein vs. Phoenicis, beorc vs. laguz?"

Tibarn shook his head in disappointment. "I don't know Ike. I just don't know."

Together, bathed in the red light of sunset, the mercenary commander and the hawk king watched the final phase of the eight day siege unfold.

"We've won this battle," said Ike. "But I fear we may have lost something far more valuable."

"No," said Tibarn. "We can not lose that which we never had."

* * *

**R&R Please**


End file.
